


The Prince of the Pagans

by Noellewashere



Category: Vikings - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I accidentally tagged this as an incestual relationship whoops, Ivar the Boneless - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Vikings, Yee Haw, a flaming train wreck, am i projecting? probably, basically I just like angst, idk what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noellewashere/pseuds/Noellewashere
Summary: Ivar reflects during the shipwreck aka I live for character angst.





	The Prince of the Pagans

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you think/ what I can do to make this better, thanks for reading!

The worst part of drowning, he thought, was not the burning deep within his lungs; it was not the mind numbing cold, nor the stark realization that with each passing second he was being dragged closer to his grave.

It was the silence.

There, trapped in the middle of the vast and unforgiving North Sea, he was screaming; desperately trying to push his way towards the surface, to air; yet no sound left him. Surrounding him was nothing but deafening silence, it's weight heavier than even the waves that promised to take him under. His thoughts screamed at him to swim upwards, he needed air. He gasped as his head broke the surface

It had all happened so fast, one moment he had been on the boat with father and his men the next he had been plunged headfirst into the cold abyss he'd hardly had time to process the severity of the situation

His entire body came alive then and muscles he'd never known were there ached he had never felt more alert but yet he could do nothing he limbs refused to move frozen in fear and cold. He shoved upwards as hard as he could and sputtered gasping frantically for breath as his head broke the surface of the endless waves

"faðir!" He screamed as loud as his hoarse lungs would allow "hjál—" the word didn't even leave his lips before a wave came, sending him tumbling over and over again until he could no longer tell up from down

  
He realized then as he tumbled deeper and deeper into the eerie darkness that He would die, alone with his thoughts, not to say that they were particularly coherent at that time, he thought frantically of his need for air, his chest burning from lack of it

He could swim, not well, but enough to keep him alive if necessary. Use your arms he remembers Floki telling him as they practiced in the small pond by the hunting cabin, he had been too embarrassed to learn at the docks and gods forbid if Sigurd were to see him wallowing about like an idiot through the shallow water another crashing wave sent him tumbling back to the present enveloping him beneath the surface

He struggled to undo the bonds around his legs, to keep afloat while at the same time, sever the rope that kept him bound to the mast he thrashed and clawed at it with all of his strength but it was no use, he would die. Just as mother had predicted.

He hated proving her right.

He thought of her as his sight began to cloud, of father. She would blame him, of course. She would never forgive him.

And what of his brothers? Would they care? Would they mourn his death or celebrate the loss of their burdensome cripple brother?

He thought of all the things he would miss: bickering with Sigurd, chess and studies with Floki, archery with Ubbe, tanaruz.

Tanaruz, beautiful, kind Tanaruz.

He would be a fool to think she loved him, perhaps even cared for him at all but he loved her, maybe not as a man loves his bride but in the way his father loved Siggy. He truly enjoyed her company, despite her status she was intelligent and was one of the few people who would speak to him. Sometimes he would call her to his chambers, and his brothers would laugh because they thought he would have her. Really, he just needed someone, a friend if she would even call him that. Someone that would listen. No one ever listened, after all, a true warrior did not complain over silly things such as aching bones a real warrior suffered in silence

There were days that left Ivar convinced that not even Odin himself would be able to refrain from crying out in pain if he felt the things he did

He began to welcome the idea of death as his body relaxed and his senses began to fade it was nice really, dying, peaceful one might say there were no cruel older brothers on the floor of the sea, no taunting voices in Valhalla, no more pain.

He had had enough time on Midgard, he decided besides, he should've died fifteen snows ago in the forest like father had wanted. Just as he thought this, a strong arm wrapped around his waist.  
Aegir. He thought lucidly, resigning himself to whatever fate the sea god had in mind and allowed himself to fall prey to the darkness.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Based on the events of season four episode twelve.

Sorry that it's a bit erratic at times but in the words of John Green as Augustus Waters, my thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.


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